


Fairest of Them All

by JeweledAnima



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Beads, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Choking, Dirty Talk, Foreplay, M/M, Mirror Sex, PWP, Power Dynamics, mairon is a bit of a power bottom here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 18:58:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18016532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeweledAnima/pseuds/JeweledAnima
Summary: Mairon forges a collar for himself.  Melkor installs a mirror in the bedroom.  It's fun to be a dark lord.





	Fairest of Them All

The collar around Mairon’s neck was of his own making.  It was a flaming gold, intricate but sturdy and enchanted so that only the one who closed the elegant clasp could open it again.  Melkor was the one who clicked it shut, fingers trailing from the lock to the delicate, unyielding golden chain that hung from an inset ring at the base.  Wrapping it around his fingers, he slowly pulled upwards, Mairon’s face rising to meet his gaze. He was so beautiful, Mairon thought, heartbreakingly beautiful — his blue-black hair cascaded in waves around his strong-featured face, his black eyes bright with wisdom, desire, cruelty.  Mairon blinked up at him slowly, catlike, craning his neck to the side for Melkor to better see the way the golden collar settled against Mairon’s milk-white skin.  

Melkor smiled, pulling further on the chain until Mairon was pulled as taut as he could be, perched on his knees. “My precious, gold truly suits you.”  Mairon grinned coyly, bringing his ring-laden fingers to land lightly on Melkor’s hand. His calloused fingertips daintily rubbed Melkor’s charred knuckles, and Melkor flexed his hand beneath the light touch.  

“The stone here is hard and cold, Mairon.  Would you have your knees rest somewhere softer?” Melkor’s words were laced with mock concern.  “Rise, little one.” Mairon’s eyes glittered, and he brought himself to his full height —Melkor was still a full head taller.  Melkor’s fingers let the chain slide through them until there was scarcely an inch of it between them and the collar itself, and Mairon’s head was tilted up enough that he thought he might be kissed.  Drawing close, the tip of Melkor’s nose touched Mairon’s temple, his other hand twirling through the Maia’s golden hair in an oddly tender gesture. Mairon held his breath, but Melkor did not speak—instead, he gave a rough tug on the chain and a wry smile (gestures this time more familiar to Mairon) and they went on their way through the halls of Angband.  

Melkor had crafted a chamber specifically for the two of them (though Mairon, with a slight pang of jealousy, supposed he was not the only one invited to lie with Melkor).  Dominating the room was a magnificent and luxurious four-poster bed, and to its left a tall closet and a chest of drawers—the contents of which Mairon was intimately familiar with.  He and the lord of Angband enjoyed their fair share of experimentation. There was a new addition to the chamber this time: a gigantic, ornate mirror now overlooked the room. Mairon raised his brows, and Melkor smiled smugly at his reflection.  

“Entertaining, no?” he murmured into Mairon’s ear, snaking his fingers down the side of the Maia’s torso and resting on his hips.  “You will be able to see just how lovely you are when in your throes, my precious Maia.” The faintest of blushes rose to Mairon’s fair features, and he couldn’t help but admire his own reflection; the shimmering robes he wore plunged into a deep V, the defined features of his collarbone and chest almost glowing in the low light.  He had done well with his collar, too; it suited him wonderfully, its golden tones synonymous with those of his hair and eyes. Mairon’s lips curled with pride, and Melkor noticed, chuckling softly. 

“That pretty robe ought to come off, Mairon.”  Melkor’s words cut through Mairon’s haze of vanity, and the smaller figure, always eager to please, lifted his hands to the delicate garment, pulling it off his shoulders and letting it slide down his hips into a silken pile on the ground.  There he stood, in all his bare glory, while Melkor’s own heavy black garments fluttered in an unseen breeze. 

Mairon was admiring the curvature of his own long limbs when Melkor spoke again, voice underlined with a mirthful danger Mairon knew all too well. “You are quite beautiful indeed, my precious, but I want your eyes on  _ me _ right now.  You can watch yourself later.”  Following a sideways tug on the collar around his neck, Mairon turned, resting his hands on the breadth of Melkor’s chest, glinting orange eyes gazing upward through dense lashes.  

“My lord, my master,” Mairon assured, massaging circles with his thumbs, “you, and only you, command my utmost attention.”

That phrase seemed to please the Vala before him, as Melkor finally gave his Maia a searing kiss that shut Mairon’s fearsome, beautiful eyes.  Impatiently and rather unceremoniously did Melkor hoist Mairon off the ground, flinging him onto the expanse of the mighty black bed. Mairon had no time to right himself before his wrists were pinned on either side of his head and his master’s lips met his with ferocious intent.  Humming into the depth of the kiss, Mairon relished in the feeling of the cold metal against his throat. He had used a process that ensured that, no matter how long it was worn, the collar would never grow warm — it was agonizing and delightful all at once for the Maia of flame. 

Melkor withdrew, breathing deeply, his eyes dark.  “You are mine, are you not?” His voice was low and husky, and he gave Mairon’s wrists a light squeeze.

The corners of Mairon’s lips curled upwards.  “For eternity. I was made to serve you.”

Melkor chuckled.  “How I wish Aulë could hear you say that.”

“Would that I could tell him as much myself, my lord.”  Mairon spoke the truth. He was Melkor’s own and Melkor’s only.  

Melkor drew himself upward, releasing Mairon’s wrists and instead pulling Mairon’s head off the bed with the aid of his golden leash.  “Show me.” 

Mairon eagerly shifted his frame, taking advantage of the slack of the chain as he slid off the bed and once again onto his knees.  This time, a plush rug cushioned them, but that didn’t matter—either way would he have drawn himself up between Melkor’s thick thighs, spreading them apart and parting the folds of black cloth with deft fingers.  Nimbly he withdrew Melkor’s heavy cock, half-hardened and just starting to leak precum. Mairon went to work, taking it in his slender fingers and coaxing it into full hardness, smearing the pearly liquid down its length before planting a light kiss on the head.  Melkor gave a small grunt of approval as Mairon pumped at his base, kissing down the length and drawing his tongue over the blood-engorged veins before letting the tip pass his lips. Mairon knew how impatient Melkor normally was, knew this ambling pace wasn’t going to last, but he enjoyed the game of teasing while it lasted.  

Shallowly he thrust his head down at first, making a show of hollowing out his cheeks when he withdrew, his tongue laving over Melkor’s shaft as he worked his way down.  One hand steadied himself on the thickness of Melkor’s thigh while the other worked intently at the base where Mairon’s lips couldn’t quite reach. Or so he thought.

“Enough of your slow games,” Melkor growled, and he took a fistful of Mairon’s beautiful hair and began to thrust his hips much more roughly into the awaiting oral cavity.  There it was; Melkor’s patience had run thin. Mairon made a garbled choking sound, both hands steadying himself now as his head was bobbed for him, as Melkor’s cock plunged into a forced-open throat.  The collar seemed unbearably tight now as Mairon struggled for breath, keeping his jaw wide open and slack for his master, his own slurping sounds going straight to his erection. He was achingly hard at this point, too.

Mairon’s eyes were glued to Melkor’s face, and he reveled in the way his lord’s brow furrowed slightly, the way his full lips had fallen slightly open.  Suddenly, a bright, devious look flitted across Melkor’s face, and focus returned to his eyes, slowing his pace slightly before pausing, his cock still buried in Mairon’s throat.  “My pretty little Maia,” he purred, watching in satisfaction as Mairon struggled for breath, kept impaled on the shaft by Melkor’s firm grip. “Look that way. Watch me while I fuck your throat.”  

Mairon’s cock throbbed, and he turned his gaze as much as he was able towards the mirror he had nearly forgotten about.  His face was red, his lips swollen and stained with spittle, and Melkor’s cock resumed its unforgiving pace. Mairon moaned around it as he watched his own facefucking, the way his throat would distend slightly each time Melkor pushed his face down around the hot length.  His golden hair hung in silken sheets about his shoulders, tucked behind his ears, and he met his own gaze, the flaming orange eyes Melkor loved to compliment. He had carefully applied a shimmering black and gold paint to the lids earlier, but the tears that had formed in the corners of his eyes as he choked had begun to smear it.  He thought it was a good look.

“Such a pretty whore,” Melkor groaned, speeding up even more.  Mairon was momentarily distracted from his reflection by the lack of air reaching his form’s brain.  He could hear his blood rushing beneath the lightheadedness, and it made the aching sensations all the more poignant.  He delighted when he felt Melkor’s cock begin to twitch, and his eyes flashed back to the mirror. He watched as Melkor’s frame tensed, as his teeth clenched and his fingers gripped Mairon’s hair even more tightly, and revelled in the feeling of Melkor spilling down his throat, of his taste on Mairon’s tongue.  When Melkor withdrew, after taking a heaving breath, Mairon let his mouth fall open, presenting his tongue for the last few ropes of white that Melkor spilled. Licking his lips, Mairon gulped, air rushing back into his lungs, his throat aching and his cock throbbing. Melkor, panting, roughly turned Mairon’s head to directly face the mirror, a smile on his lips.  

“Will you look at that,” he muttered, smoothing Mairon’s long hair.  “See how debauched you are for me, Mairon?” Mairon nodded, still breathing heavily.  Rogue splatters of come stained his flushed, freckled face, and his parted lips were pink, wet, swollen.  His cock was red and desperate, but he resisted the urge to give it the touch it ached for, instead craning his neck back towards Melkor, pulling his master down for a fiery kiss.  He wasn’t done yet. 

“Master,” he said in a way that would have been matter-of-fact if it hadn’t been for his breathlessness, “oil.”  Melkor grinned at Mairon’s forwardness, slipping over to the chest of drawers and rummaging for a moment.

“Ah, there we are,” he said softly, withdrawing both a bottle full of viscous liquid and a plain box.  Mairon hadn’t asked for a toy, but he wasn’t going to complain. The hour was yet early, and both of them had the stamina for incredibly long sessions.  

“On the bed, little one,” Melkor crooned.  “Hands and knees.” Mairon eagerly obliged, slipping onto the silk sheets like a cat, prostrating himself the way he knew Melkor liked: his back arched, legs spread.  He was surprised when Melkor gripped his ankles, repositioning him roughly. “Don’t forget,” said Melkor, voice low, “you’re watching yourself tonight.” From the small table beside the bed, Melkor lifted another small hand mirror, placing it in Mairon’s palm, positioning it so that Mairon could see behind him — it was a view of the other mirror, and  _ what _ a view it was.  

Melkor had positioned him so his ass was perfectly in sight, and Mairon released a low moan of excitement.  He could see as Melkor slicked his blackened fingers, watched as Melkor spread his ass apart and began to work at the tight ring of flesh.  The sensation, coupled with the sight of the act, had Mairon shivering in pleasure, a deep groan ripping itself from him as Melkor pressed a finger inside.  Pouring more of the oil onto Mairon’s entrance, Melkor continued to work his way inside none too gently, the stretch pulling moans from Mairon’s lips with every breath.  Melkor scissored a second finger inside, then a third. He began to thrust his fingers in a slow, deep rhythm, and Mairon canted his hips back onto them, aching for more, aching for Melkor’s fingers to strike that sweet spot Eru had so delightfully placed in these bodies.  And strike it they did at last; a warbled cry escaped Mairon as Melkor began to massage it, his vision going hazy with lust, pain, pleasure. 

“Tell me what you want, my beautiful, filthy whore,” Melkor growled, his pace insistent, and Mairon struggled to get his consciousness to form sentences.  Melkor took ahold of the collar’s chain once again, snapping it back and pulling Mairon’s spine into even more taut an arch. Mairon’s gaze was drawn from his hand mirror and pulled to the ceiling, then to Melkor himself.  The pain gave him enough focus to speak, and he did so breathlessly, meeting Melkor’s fingers with all his will.

“Fill me, master,” he cried, “I want you to fuck me.  I want to milk every last drop from you, and I want to watch as you use me like a toy.  Please, my lord, my god, give me everything you have.” Melkor laughed cruelly at Mairon’s pleas, pounding away with his fingers before completely withdrawing them without warning _.   _ Mairon cried out at the injustice, keening for the lost feeling of fullness, wanting more.  He looked at Melkor, frustration and hurt evident on his fair features, but Melkor’s attention had turned to the black box he had brought out with the oil.  Mairon had almost forgotten about it. 

“On your back now, precious,” Melkor said, voice low, and Mairon obliged immediately, resting his head on pillows.  Like this, he could see his puckered entrance in the large mirror, the way it twitched with its loss, keening to be filled again.  In Melkor’s hands was a string of black, metallic beads, increasing incrementally in size from that of a berry to a rather large apricot.  Mairon made a distinctly uncharacteristic whimpering sound as Melkor coated them generously in oil.

“I thought you would enjoy watching this,” murmured Melkor, and, pulling Mairon’s ass apart once more, positioned the first bead, pushing it in easily.  

“More,” Mairon grunted, “quickly.”  Melkor laughed once more, easing in the second and the third, making a great show of it.  Mairon moaned in pleasure as the beads filled his hollow hole, and he shuddered deeply in delight as he watched himself stretch open and shut, allowing the beads’ individual entry.  Four, six, seven, nine… Melkor continued to press each bead into Mairon’s entrance until only the ring at the end of the string remained, Mairon writhing with each new entry. He felt himself clench around the beads, their unique texture ever pleasurable, and he whimpered as Melkor began to pull them out.  The pressure as they re-stretched his hole was all but mind-breaking. Mairon made crooning sounds of appreciation as he watched himself spread open by the exiting beads, squeezing shut after one only to be stretched wide by the next. Melkor delighted in his servant’s vanity, and made certain Mairon could see every detail possible.

By the time the last bead slipped from Mairon’s entrance, he was about to snap.  He needed more, and he needed to be the one in charge. Before Melkor, setting the beads aside, could react, Mairon was upright, reversing their positions and shoving Melkor’s shoulders down onto the bed.  He all but tore the fabric of Melkor’s robes in his frenzied pursuit of the beads’ replacement, straddling Melkor’s hips and gazing down at him with a haughty lasciviousness. Melkor grinned at his lieutenant’s forwardness, spreading his legs wider to make things easier for him.

“I am taking you,” Mairon asserted, positioning himself over Melkor’s cock.  He was well-beyond the point of teasing. He began to work himself down and fill himself up, thrusting his hips with surprising grace.  

“That’s right, my precious,” Melkor growled, gripping Mairon’s slender hips with his charred hands, canting his own in time with the Maia’s.  “Show me that you are mine.”

Mairon exhaled sharply, bottoming out and throwing his head back, the gold hair flowing down his back sticking with sweat.  “I am yours, my master,” he moaned, quickening his pace, and Melkor didn’t catch the glint in his eye until Mairon’s hands were on his throat.  “And you are mine,” Mairon hissed, squeezing a shattered laugh from Melkor’s constricted throat. “You, my lord, my god, are mine as well, because only  _ I _ can do  _ this _ — _ ah _ —”

Melkor, his breathing shallow beneath the press of Mairon’s fingers, had pulled backwards on Mairon’s golden chain, yanking the Maia’s head back and digging into the delicate flesh of his neck.  “ _ Watch, _ ” he growled hoarsely from below Mairon’s grip, and Mairon, his own flow of air constricted once again, craned his head to the mirror.  His body shone with sweat, shining in the low light, and his gaze focused on where his body met Melkor’s. He watched as he sped up, reveling in the way his whole body moved as he thrust his hips, the way Melkor’s cock continually disappeared and reappeared in the reflection.  Mairon relished in his own beauty, and as both lord and lieutenant spurred onward, each rougher than the other, he felt a familiar tension in the core of his belly, spreading like the fire of his forge. He was close, burning up—the golden collar around his neck was leaving angry red marks, and his fingers flexed as they squeezed the sides of Melkor’s neck.

Melkor’s thick length thrust in and out, striking Mairon’s sweet spot and urging the Maia on violently.  Mairon kept Melkor pinned, grinding down roughly and filling himself to bursting. The sound of skin slapping against skin resounded in his ears, and he was vaguely cognizant of Melkor’s fingers leaving harsh bruises on his smooth hips.  At last, he let his hands drag from Melkor’s throat down to his shoulders, gripping there white-knuckled as he bottomed out once more. He tossed his golden head back, crying out in ecstasy—the heat that had built up now burst through him, his taut body shaking as he spilled onto Melkor’s chest, the ropes of white stark against the gray skin and the black robes.  Shuddering, gasping, squeezing, Mairon gave himself over to sensation, collapsing downward and sinking his teeth into the flesh at Melkor’s neck. He rode out his own sensitivity, crying out in a hoarse staccato as Melkor took over, finishing himself off with a few more strokes that pounded Mairon’s overstimulated body. 

Trembling, Mairon relished in the slick sound Melkor’s cock made as it slid from his battered hole, watching in the mirror as hot, sticky gobs of white spilled from it like molasses.  Mairon’s strength had all but left him for the moment, and he shakily drew his lips down Melkor’s collarbone, coming to rest at a dark nipple that he meekly tongued at. Melkor chuckled breathlessly, combing his fingers through Mairon’s hair in a repetitive, mindless motion.  

“That’s my Mairon,” he said approvingly, spreading his Maia’s hole open with a nonchalant pair of fingers, allowing more of his seed to drip down Mairon’s thighs.  Mairon whimpered at the sensation, every inch of him still coursing with heat and sensitivity. He nipped lightly at Melkor’s nipple, looking up at him through dense, dark lashes.

“I am yours, in both body and soul,” Mairon murmured, sliding up the side of Melkor’s body so that their forms were pressed against one another as closely as they could be.  He wrapped his long arms around his master’s shoulders, stroking the lines of Melkor’s body. He had left marks. That fact delighted him.

“Indeed you are, little one,” Melkor rumbled, running his fingers down Mairon’s flushed cheeks.  “My one. My own.” Mairon looked up at him with those incredible, searing eyes. “My precious.”


End file.
